


the beginning of everything

by karikes



Series: an unbroken series of successful gestures [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: (i still can't tag stuff properly), Academy Era, Austistic Uhura, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Spock being soft, because that's important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 06:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14910090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karikes/pseuds/karikes
Summary: Nyota navigates the challenges of hand-to-hand as an autistic person, her relationship with Spock, and hope for the future."I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self respect. And it's these things I'd believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn't all she should be. I love her and it is the beginning of everything.”  F. Scott Fitzgerald, on his wife Zelda.





	the beginning of everything

**Author's Note:**

> This really won't make sense without reading _like birds' wings_ first, so if you haven't, I suggest you hit previous work now.
> 
> Ok, for the people who have been waiting all this time, here’s what happened:   
> 1\. I learned I should never, ever, ever make time promises where writing is concerned.   
> 2\. I took a six week summer class last year that was very time consuming.   
> 3\. I had a lot of personal stuff happen last fall and this spring (and some mental health issues that went with that) plus I was also feeling very bleh about this whole sequel thing- changed my ideas for this and then came back to them… the list goes on. 
> 
> I never forgot about it, nor did I want to leave you all hanging for so long. But sometimes life happens. So, yeah, it’s shorter than I thought it would be. No, there isn’t going to be a second one as originally planned. I confess that I’m feeling approximately the same level of nervousness as I did when I published the first chapter of _like birds’ wings._
> 
> Thank you to [this lovely human](https://hawkebi.tumblr.com/) who helped me figure out some of my plot issues quite some time ago. A further thank you to everyone who has read this story, loved this story, or felt themselves in it. It really means a lot to me.

Nyota stares at her course list for the spring of her second year at the Academy. There’s only one course that has her attention.

_ Intro to Hand-to-hand Combat.  _ In smaller text beneath it lies the terrible phrase:  _ Required for all Starfleet Personnel. _

This class is going to be one long, unending panic attack. She knows this, anticipates the sensory hell with dread. Nyota needs to take it though, and putting it off is stupid and irrational, so she added the class with the rest of her courses and promptly closed the window on her padd so she wouldn’t think about it a month ago.

She turns her padd off and collects her holoprints into neat piles. Nyota’s supposed to be meeting Spock in twenty minutes when he gets out of a faculty meeting, and she absolutely can study a little more before she leaves, but she’s started thinking about hand-to-hand combat starting in a week and she can’t concentrate anymore.

It’s just prep for her classes anyways. It’s not like she even has to be doing this stuff. But she is Nyota Uhura, top of her class, every class. She doesn’t get bad grades, and she sure as hell isn’t going to get a bad grade in hand-to-hand, even if she has a meltdown every day after class.

She counts the steps down the outside of the library, sighing when it’s an odd number.  _ Twenty-seven _ , she thinks as she starts counting to the cadence of her footsteps. It’s an old habit that she sometimes picks up when she thinks, choosing an arbitrary number and counting to that number over and over again when she walks.

Nyota almost runs into Commander Kjin when she enters the dean’s hall. 

“He’ll be out in a minute, Uhura,” the commander says warmly. “Have a good night!”

Nyota nods and steps to the side of the door to let Kjin pass. “I know,” she says softly. “Thank you, sir.”

Spock appears after a minute, the stiff set of his shoulders easing the slightest amount when he spots her. 

“Good evening, Nyota,” he says, his voice carefully even due to the lack of privacy they have. 

“Good evening, Spock.” 

Nyota smiles at him, all thoughts of hand-to-hand banished for the moment. She’s going to have a nice evening with her boyfriend and take advantage of the fact that they can have way more sex when neither of them have classes.

It’s only later, when she rests her head on his chest, sweaty and satisfied, that she remembers how worried she is about physical contact she isn’t okay with.

Spock immediately senses her shift of mood and sets his padd neatly on his nightstand.

“Would you prefer to tell me or show me?”

Nyota stares intently at Spock’s wall, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“I have to take hand-to-hand and I’m going to die, Spock. I have to let people I don’t know touch me for an hour and a half, three times a week, for seventeen weeks. I’m never going to want to be touched again after this. You might have to break up with me. I might get a B, or worse, a C, just because I hate the idea of this class so much.”

“Your life will not end due to a combat class required of all Starfleet cadets, Nyota. I do not believe that you will perform less than adequately in hand-to-hand. I further doubt that our relationship will be terminated over this class, if only because you prefer to appropriate my soap.”

“Spock,” Nyota says exasperatedly, “stop. I don’t want you to make jokes right now. I’m legitimately terrified of this class.” 

She hauls herself up into a sitting position. “The whole touching without having my rules around it thing is freaking me out, legitimately. I have to take this class and I think it’s going to push me too hard. I don’t think I can handle it, Spock, really.”

Spock nods, blinking slowly. “I believe you are capable of performing adequately in the class despite your misgivings.”

Nyota sighs. “You can say that, but that’s because I’m okay touching you. I’m not okay touching people I’ve never met before, much less full-body grappling with them. This class is just going to be hell. I’m going to get a bad grade, and my instructor is going to hate me.”

Spock sits up as well. “The statistical likelihood of you receiving a less than expected grade based on your previous academic record is less than fourteen point six eight percent. The odds are slighter higher for your instructor disliking you: eighteen point nine three percent.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she says, twisting away from him. She crosses her arms. “So, Spock. Tell me exactly how this class will not be hell. Logically, my touch sensitivity is not going to disappear. I’m not going to suddenly feel less like death because someone I didn’t know touched me.”

Spock doesn’t reply for a minute. Nyota just watches him, knowing that he is thinking, but wishing she could be angry with him. She can never stay angry with him for very long, which frustrates her. He’s too kind; bends when she’s expecting him to snap.

“You tolerate touch from unknown sources better when you are aware it is approaching,” he finally says. “A discussion with your instructor may be in order. Perhaps they will be willing to allow you to keep your partner rotation to a minimum, as well as offer extra tutelage outside the classroom.”

“Okay,” Nyota replies. “Minimizing the hell.”

Spock’s mouth quirks slightly. “You could phrase it that way.”

⋘⋙

Nyota marches to Lieutenant Garcia’s office in the morning, her eyeliner slightly thicker than normal. Her hand, normally so sure, had shaken slightly as she applied it that morning. Spock’s eyes had drifted to hers in the mirror and he had paused shaving as she let out an expletive. 

The lieutenant’s door is open, but Garcia is nowhere to be seen. Nyota steps inside, clearing her throat in case Garcia happens to be hiding behind their desk for some reason. She waits for three minutes before Garcia appears from the hall.

“Sorry,” the lieutenant says, “I ran out to use the bathroom. What can I help you with, cadet?

Nyota sits carefully in the seat across from the lieutenant’s desk before speaking.

“I'm Cadet Uhura and I'm enrolled in your morning section of Intro to Hand-to-Hand, sir,” she says smoothly. Her hand is in her bag on her lap, rubbing her blanket for comfort.

“I recall seeing your name on my roster,” Garcia replies. “What can I do for you?”

Nyota crosses her ankles. “Lieutenant, I'm on the autism spectrum.”

Garcia doesn't blink. “And?”

“Touching people is often sensory hell, especially if I don't know them. My boyfriend suggested that I discuss with you what could be done so I can get a good grade in this class and also not want to climb out of my skin every day.”

The lieutenant leans back in her chair. She's not tall or skinny, but there's strength in her movements. Nyota has no doubt that Garcia could pin her in a second.

“I'm willing to make accommodations wherever possible,” Garcia says. “But I will not, under any circumstances, go easy on you or allow you to sit out. This is a required class for a reason, Uhura.”

Nyota nods. “I'm not expecting that. I don't want you to go easy on me. I earn my good grades, sir. Could my partners be limited? My boyfriend told me that they’re rotated every class so you get a variety of opponents, but I would do better with familiarity.”

Garcia nods. “I can do that. I'll give you my TA or myself whenever possible, so you'll get a wide variety of styles despite having the same partners. Who did your boyfriend take hand-to-hand with?”

Nyota hadn't thought to ask. “I don't know, sir, but it was a while ago. He's graduated.”

Garcia raises her eyebrow. “I'm only asking because I'm obligated to, but are you in a relationship with one of your teachers, Uhura?”

Nyota shakes her head vehemently. “Absolutely not, sir.”

Garcia seems to accept her answer and settles slightly. “Anything else?”

Nyota hesitates. Her coordination issues are less obvious with fine motor movements than gross motor movements. It would be worth mentioning. She has always carefully made sure she was never in a situation where her clumsiness might be seen, but it is inevitable now.

“I'm not very coordinated, sir,” she says slowly. “I have difficulty following movements unless I've done them a lot. I may require out of class tutoring, if that's possible.”

Garcia powers on the padd sitting on her desk. “When do you have openings?”

It turns out that Nyota doesn't have any openings that match up with Garcia or her TA. 

“There are several other instructors you could ask,” Garcia says. “I'll send you a list.”

“Thank you, sir.” Nyota couldn’t hide the relief in her voice if she tried.

“It's no problem.” Garcia stands. “I look forward to having you in class on Monday.”

“I look forward to seeing you as well, sir.” Nyota stands and leaves, her limbs full of adrenaline. She walks the long way to Spock’s office, trying to calm down slightly.

_ Lieutenant Garcia was more than accommodating. You'll be fine. You don't fail at anything you set your mind to. _

Spock doesn’t technically have office hours yet because the semester hasn’t started, but his door is open and Nyota knows that he can be interrupted.

She closes the door when she enters his office for privacy’s sake.

“Lieutenant Garcia said that I could have minimal partners so I’ll do better.”

Spock looks up from his padd. 

Nyota continues. “Our schedules are incompatible, so if I need extra tutoring, I have to ask other instructors.”

“You do not want to do that.” It is not a question.

“Not really.” Nyota stares at his hands.

“Am I to offer a comforting phrase at this time?”

She looks up to Spock’s face. “I love you,” she says.

“You remind me often,” he replies. “You did not answer my question.”

Nyota slides her index finger along her collar. She thinks for twenty seconds. “I think,” she says slowly. “That you might be able to help me.”

Spock’s eyebrow rises, but he doesn’t say anything.

“What if you gave me hand-to-hand lessons in addition to my classwork?”

Spock blinks once. “ _ Suus mahna _ is taught in the second course of hand-to-hand. I would be teaching you more advanced techniques than will be broached in your course.”

“Exactly,” Nyota says, her eyes sparkling. “I’m more than happy to let you touch me as much as you want, and your training could give me an edge in the class.”

Spock lets out his approximation of a sigh and taps on his padd. “Twice a week. Mondays and Thursdays. You are available from 1500 to 1600. I will reserve a practice room. Do you wish to start concurrently with your class or would you prefer to wait a week?”

Nyota steps around his desk and takes his cheek in her hand. “Wait a week,” she says. “You are the best boyfriend in the world.”

Spock’s mouth opens and she knows he’s about to start his speech about how it is statistically impossible to determine that, but he just closes it again and turns into her hand. 

_ Sunlight streams in from the window in his kitchen. He walks to the replicator and makes a cup of tea. He drinks it, and finds himself wishing he were not alone. It is not as if he is actually alone, but Nyota requires more sleep than him, even if she often does not get it. He will not wake her before her alarm. _

_ He walks to his bedroom and looks at her. She is beautiful every time he sees her, but he finds himself still unused to the wonder he feels when she is sleeping. Her hand is fisted in her blanket, the sheets covering most of her torso. Her hair is a mess in the dim light and she is drooling slightly onto her pillow. _

_ It is illogical and there are better ways he could spend his time. He does not want to. He watches her sleep for forty-three minutes and twenty-seven seconds before her arm flies out to hit her padd and her head turns towards him. _

Nyota withdraws her hand and smiles. “You’re such a romantic sap,” she says. “Dinner tonight?”

Spock nods. “I will comm you when I am finished with my work.”

“Okay. I love you.”

Nyota brushes her fingers against his in  _ oz’hesta _ before leaning down for a brief kiss that lasts longer than she was planning. But Spock was the one who lingered, so it’s not her fault if he pulls back suddenly and says neutrally, “Good afternoon, Cadet Uhura.”

She knows he must have heard approaching footsteps, so she smooths her ponytail and walks out the door. 

“Sir,” she says to the passing lieutenant commander, who nods in return.

Nyota feels a lot less like hand-to-hand is going to be hell.

⋘⋙

_ This is hell, _ she thinks as she tries to follow the basic arm bar Lieutenant Garcia is demonstrating for the class.  _ Hell. _

It doesn’t get much better. Garcia’s TA is close to six feet tall and makes Nyota feel like she’s an ant. He’s very nice and goes through the movements very slowly with her, but Nyota just wants to die inside. She wore long sleeves today to avoid lots of touching, but she’s sweating so much she regrets it.

Her classmates are loud and distracting, which doesn’t help one bit. She manages to make it the full forty minutes before making a run for the sonics, if only just barely.

Nyota comms Spock the minute she’s dressed in her uniform. He doesn’t answer, which is fine. She knows he’s teaching a class right now.

After his curt inbox greeting, she leaves him a message. “Spock, we need to start training today. I’ll book us a room. Just comm me as soon as you can. I had a really rough time and I want to go rock in a corner for three hours, but I have class in twenty minutes.” She’s so distressed she forgets to say she loves him.

Spock comms her back while she’s in class. Nyota feels the vibrations of her comm and sits, her stylus poised above her padd as she waits for them to die out. She still feels awful.

His message is just as brief as her own. “Nyota, I find myself uncomfortable with the levels of distress you are displaying. I am available for the next two point three hours if you require my company. I have already booked a practice room for 1500.” There is a pause before he says, “I care for you, Nyota.”

Nyota wants to run to Spock when she sees him across the quad, but she forces her legs to move at an even pace. She follows him, unthinking as they traverse the campus. Spock finally stops at a bench near the faculty parking lot, where it is unlikely they will be disturbed. She sits next to him and grabs his hand tightly. She doesn’t speak for three minutes, allowing Spock to breathe in tandem with her and focus only on the sunlight coming through the trees.

“I hate it already,” Nyota says finally.

“I am aware.”

“I really don’t think I’m ever going to like it.”

Spock squeezes her hand slightly and lets go. “You do have a tendency towards stubbornness once you have made up your mind.”

Nyota can’t help the laugh that climbs out of her throat. “Of course I do. I know what I like and what I don’t. Self-awareness is incredibly important in order to achieve anything.”

“Nyota, I believe the expression that best fits this conversation is: You are preaching to the choir.”

She turns to look at Spock fully, his smile dancing around the crease of his eyes.

“I love you,” she says, the tension draining from her shoulders. “I’m really glad I have you.”

“Likewise.”

Nyota watches the leaves rustle in the breeze. “I have class in half an hour.”

“I have your schedule.” A pause, and then he asks, “Is there something you require besides my company?” Spock’s fingers are gentle as they trail a path down her cheek.

Nyota shakes her head. “Will you just sit with me until I have to go?”

Spock nods.

⋘⋙

Nyota changes into a tank top and shorts this time, knowing that she will be touched by someone she loves. Spock is already waiting for her inside the practice room, his tshirt tight across his chest. It’s been a year since he was her teacher, and she’s a little unsure how their interactions are going to unfold now that they are in love.

Spock acknowledges her. “Nyota.” 

“Spock,” she replies. She hesitates before stepping closer to him. “Should I take off my shoes?”

Spock places his hands behind his back. “I find that bare feet offer a better grip on the floor.”

Nyota bends over and removes her shoes, certain that Spock is staring at her ass.

“Okay,” she says. “How are we starting?”

Spock moves his feet slightly apart. “With stance. It is impossible to defend yourself if you do not have a firm foundation. Your heels should be slightly wider than shoulders’ width apart.”

Nyota copies his movement. “We went over stance this morning.”

He offers her only his gaze. “I am aware. However, I am not teaching basics of multiple disciplines. I am teaching the basics of  _ suus mahna _ .”

Nyota sighs. “Very well.”

Spock starts with a basic block, but it ends with his opponent’s arm twisted behind their back, as Nyota soon discovers. It’s strange to have Spock so close to her with no expectation that they will soon be naked. It’s not bad, just odd.

Spock adjusts her form often, so much so that Nyota soon finds herself frustrated. She throws up her hands after fifteen minutes and says, “Why don’t you adjust my eyelids so I can blink more optimally?”

Spock steps back, removing his hand from her elbow. “You asked me to teach you.”

Nyota breathes out slowly through her nose. “I would prefer you tell me how to move instead of just moving me. You’re making me feel like a child.”

He studies her for a moment, his gaze lingering on the sweat starting to collect on her chest.

“Your elbow should be one inch to the right,” Spock says.

Nyota moves it.

“Satisfactory.”

The next forty-five minutes involve more sweat and even more instructions given in Spock’s smooth tone as he gracefully executes maneuvers and looks far too handsome. At exactly sixteen hundred, he steps out of the half-finished headlock he is demonstrating and straightens his shirt.

“Do you believe this helped?” He asks, striding to the door.

“Yes,” Nyota says, and thinks of how focused Spock had been on teaching her, how she could not feel a thing through the places where their skin touched.

Spock turns as she approaches. 

“It’s kind of weird not to feel anything from you when we touch,” she says, her shoes in her hands.

“I felt it inappropriate to allow such a connection during an allotted time for instruction, as well as in such a public place.”

“I know,” Nyota says softly. “But I still like it better when I can feel you.”

Spock pauses before opening the door. “My preference is the same.”

Nyota smiles to herself as they step into the hall. The distance grows between them as they pass cadets, but Nyota knows that if Spock were human, he would be looking back to make sure she was still there, behind him.

She loves him fiercely; he loves her tenderly. It is always a push and pull between them, a rotation around their being that magnetizes their connection. Nyota catches up to him outside the locker rooms. She almost reaches out to touch him, but stops herself. Cadets are hurrying past them, a few curious glances thrown their way.

“Thank you,” she says softly.

“You are most welcome,” Spock replies.

It’s Nyota who turns and walks away first, but it’s Spock who stares a moment longer than he should.

⋘⋙

Spock snaps his comm shut a little briskly that night. Nyota looks at him questioningly but Spock just shakes his head, so she doesn’t push.

“Rebecca sent me a photo of Earl this afternoon.”

He looks up at her from the pot of curry he’s stirring. After a brief examination of her face, he returns to his methodical task. “You are not happy.”

“I’m worried. Rebecca seems to want to try, but I don’t want to break my sister’s marriage apart over my boyfriend.” Nyota feels the edge of the counter press against her spine and she pushes back, enjoying the brief pressure before it gets too painful and she has to stand upright again.

“Nyota, it is not your doing in the slightest if Sanaa and Rebecca separate. Your sister’s bigotry is not your doing either.” Spock grasps her hand briefly, his warmth seeping into her bones. “Talk to Rebecca. You have a tendency to isolate yourself.”

She feels a little raw tonight, as if her sister is an open wound. Which she kind of is, if Nyota thinks about it. It’s been months since Sanaa has made her disapproval clear, but Nyota is still trying to process exactly what this means for their relationship for the rest of their lives. She doesn’t want to believe the worst; she never does, but the vitriol Sanaa spewed at Christmas makes her lean away from her normal tendencies. Spock for once, seems more optimistic than her.

She’s extra tired tonight, so she doesn’t stay very long after dinner. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she whispers, right before Spock kisses her goodnight.

They get to see each other for exactly five minutes the next day. Nyota drops by his office and gives him a kiss and they do a quick breathing exercise together before she runs to Diplomacy Tactics for Translators. For now, though, she just wants to breathe him in, just for a moment longer than she should.

It’s Spock who nudges her gently towards the door. “You have homework to do before you go to sleep, Nyota.”

“I know,” she says softly. “I just want to be with you for one more minute.”

He gives his approximation of a sigh and pulls her a little tighter to his chest.

⋘⋙

Nyota sends Rebecca a message back, just something short about her classes this semester. It’s the same thing she sends her mother. Eshe gets a photo of Spock, though: his body angled away from her, his eyes downcast and his brow smooth for once. Nyota has very few photos of Spock, and even fewer without his stern gaze drilling into the camera lens, but she managed to get this one without him noticing. Or maybe he noticed and let her have it anyways. Likely the latter, which is sweeter.

She taps the edge of her padd with her fingernails. She needs to repaint them, but she has a paper due tomorrow and a group project meeting after class. They’ll have to wait a few more days at least. It will bother her, because there’s not much nail polish left to pick off, but she can’t really do anything about it. 

Rebecca messages back the next day in the middle of the group project, but Nyota doesn’t get to it until an hour later, when she’s sitting at her desk in her room. Rebecca talks about what Earl’s been up to and how she and Sanaa are faring. She ends her message with “Miss you, sister,” and Nyota’s throat closes up so fast she has to struggle past the first few tears.

She finally reaches for her comm, selecting Spock’s number while tears blur her vision. 

“Nyota.”

“Spock.” She takes a shaky breath. “I’m kind of crying right now and I have a lot of homework to get done, but I’m crying because Rebecca signed a message ‘sister.’”

There’s a brief pause, and she can practically hear him thinking in the seven seconds it takes him to gather his words. 

“What would you like?”

“I don’t know,” she says, trying to calm the hitch in her breathing without it really working. “Probably my sister. My real one.”

“Family is often bound by more than blood,” Spock replies, his voice calm and even. “In my understanding, you have always had a relationship with both your biological sister and her wife.”

“It’s not the same,” she says, even though she knows it can be. Gaila is her sister, without a shadow of a doubt. 

“That is what you want to believe, but it is not true.”

Nyota knows he’s right, but she wants to be comforted, not told to accept the fact that her sister-in-law has somehow decided Nyota means more to her than Nyota’s flesh and blood does.

“It hurts,” she finally says, blowing her nose. “It hurts and I don’t want it to.”

“Yes,” Spock says.

They sit in silence again, but it’s longer and distinctly more comfortable.

Nyota finally draws a deep breath. “Thank you,” she says. For listening, for trying to help in his Spock way, for being there, for just being him with her when she needs. She couldn’t say all that if she tried, and she hopes that the cultural and physical distance between them doesn’t make that bridge impossible to cross. She hopes that he sees in her the importance of every interaction they have.

“Yes,” he says again. Then, after a moment, “You require rest.”

“Yes,” she says, smiling a little for the first time all day. “I do. I’m not going to get as much as I need, but I will.”

There’s a pause where if he were human, he’d say he loved her, then to go to bed anyways, but he’s not and he won’t, but she knows that.

“Good evening,” he says instead, and that’s the way he says he loves her- that it’s good to spend time with her, even if she’s crying for most of it; that it’s good and pleasing to hear her voice; that it’s evening and they are apart and he still calls it good because he is bending to a standard her people set, just for her.

Nyota thinks that she has been lucky in love, but she’s not going to say that to Spock, because he’s himself, and luck doesn’t exist, only probability. Whatever. The probability they found each other is probably not very good, and here they are anyways. The point is, she loves him.

“I love you too,” she says.

There’s a faint sound, like he’s shifting around, and then he hangs up, like she’s expecting him to. She stares at her comm for a few seconds too long, then sniffs and shuts it. She has homework to do.

⋘⋙

Nyota huffs, sure she’s completely red in the face as she blocks the TA’s punch and swipes in offense. Class is over in less than ten minutes, and she not only mentally wants to die, she physically feels exhausted. She doesn’t connect with his face because he blocks her and moves to swipe her feet out from under her, but she’s been practicing countering a similar move with Spock so she catches his leg with her own and pulls, catching the TA off balance.

It’s two months since she started classes, and this is the first time she’s felt like she’s improved at all. She can’t help the grin that spreads across her face once she realizes that she’s actually done something semi-useful.

Nyota Uhura does not fail her classes, no matter how painful they are.

She’s practically skipping as she leaves the gym, even though her muscles are on fire and she has not been getting anywhere near the amount of sleep she needs. Still, the happiness of actually pulling off a move in a class she’s hated from the beginning settles in her veins. She hums as she unlocks Spock’s apartment and toes out of her shoes. He won’t be done in his office for at least another half an hour, but she’s got homework to do while she waits, so it’s fine.

When he comes in an hour and a half later, he stands in front of her padds strewn across the coffee table and couch with an expression she’s come to recognize as fondness. He starts to stack the padds into a pile until Nyota reaches out and grabs his arm, her fingers curling against the stiff fabric of his uniform. 

“I’ll clean them up when I’m done,” she says, tilting her head to meet his eyes.

He pauses, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Are you capable of leaving my mess alone for another hour?” Nyota asks, her voice teasing.

Spock blinks once, then again, his eyelashes dark against his cheekbones. She resists the urge to kiss him and make his eyelashes keep that perfect contrast for another minute or too. She needs to finish the rough draft of this paper, and kissing Spock will mean too much distraction.

“I’m nearly done,” she continues, swallowing and forcing her eyes to focus anywhere besides his lips.

“Very well,” he says finally, twisting his hand to rest his first two fingers against her wrist, where her pulse beats steadily. There’s no real reason for the touch, no burst of feeling that travels up her arm and pulses in her brain; just the soft feeling of his skin on hers.

“I love you.” Nyota tugs on his arm, deciding to give in to the desire to kiss him. She has self-control, and the padd on her lap is enough reminder that she ought to use it. 

Spock leans down to kiss her, allowing the connection of their lips to furl through her chest, warming her down to her toes.

“Okay,” she says, her breath hitching slightly. “Okay,” she repeats. “I actually have to finish this.”

There’s a hint of a smile playing around his eyes. “I did not imply otherwise.”

“Shut up,” Nyota says, rolling her eyes and pushing slightly at where his hand is still in contact with hers. “I’ll be an hour.”

Spock presses another kiss to her forehead and releases her hand almost in the same motion. “Do you have a preference as to our meal this evening?”

She shakes her head, her ponytail nearly hitting her face. “Whatever you make is good.”

He knows she means whatever he makes on the list of things she likes, so he nods curtly and moves around the couch and out of her field of vision.

Later, when her rough draft is done, their food is consumed, and his hand has slid up her thigh underneath her skirt while they pretend to watch the evening news, she sits up suddenly.

“I forgot to tell you,” Nyota says. “I threw Gregory in hand-to-hand today.”

If Spock were human, his face would be split from ear to ear in a grin, but he’s Vulcan, so she feels the race of his happiness through where his hand meets her thigh.

“Is that so,” he replies, his face nearly smooth, his voice almost as neat.

“Yes,” she says. “Also, I’m getting muscles.” 

Not really. Her small frame isn’t built for bulking, not like some of the other female cadets. Running has long shaped her legs, though, and it’s fascinating to watch her arms match; to mark the slow progress of abs. They practiced together yesterday, and it’s not like he can’t feel the way her strength has grown since the start of the semester, but she wants him to notice that she’s definitely sexier now. She laughs a little at the thought, shifting so Spock’s hand slides closer to her groin. His brow furrows ever so slightly in confusion, but he doesn’t move his hand back.

“I’m sexier now,” Nyota says, by way of explanation.

He opens his mouth, then shuts it, staring at her for a long moment. “Are you implying that your increased physical exercise has resulted in my level of physical attraction towards you growing?” He finally asks.

“Yes, Spock, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” She raises her own eyebrows. “Are you implying that I’m wrong?”

Spock lifts the hand in his lap and starts to tug at the zipper on her uniform, without saying anything. His other hand soon joins the first in his quest to remove her jacket. She lets him, watching to see what he’s going to do. When he’s finally removed the offending red fabric and folded it neatly, setting it out of the way, he returns his attention to her.

Nyota shivers when his hands lightly trace the shape of her biceps, curving across the obvious definition she has now. He looks at her in apology and presses his hands down more firmly, before dragging her in for a searing kiss.

She moves to straddle his lap, shoving her skirt up around her hips, but before she removes anymore clothing, Spock pulls away to look her carefully in the eye for what can’t be more than a second, and says, “Your postulation is correct.”

She laughs and kisses him again.

⋘⋙

It’s almost the end of the semester before Nyota figures out exactly what had Spock so curt that night many weeks before. It’s not even on purpose, and he’s the one on his comm in his office. He hangs up a moment after she walks in, and there’s that same tension in his shoulders that she recognizes from before.

“Spock,” she says slowly, giving him time to face her. “What exactly is going on?”

He lets out his approximation of a sigh and places his comm in a neat line with the edge of his desk.

“That was your sister-in-law.”

Nyota thinks that the sudden sound of blood rushing in her ears is louder than the hum of the overhead light. She has no clue why Rebecca would be calling Spock, but the wave of anxiety making her hands tremble doesn’t think it’s anything good. She takes several deep breaths, trying to center herself, but he’s noticed, and he’s crossed the room in half a second.

His hand presses into hers, calm radiating into her palm. He breathes with her for a minute or two, waiting for her to be together enough to speak.

“Why was she calling you?” Nyota’s throat feels thick, and she realizes with a sinking feeling that she’s about to start crying. She doesn’t actually know why, but her body’s decided against her confusion.

Spock brushes the first tear away with his thumb before answering. “I talk to Earl,” he says, as if that is enough explanation.

“Why?” She tries to force the sob away, but it escapes her anyways, with an anxious wring of her hands. 

“Rebecca believes that Earl having positive connotations with me will lead to Sanaa’s acceptance. We discussed this at Christmas.”

His gaze is calm, implacable, but his hand is tender around her jaw and neck. She turns her head so she’s staring at the wall, but she can still feel the weight of his hand and eyes on her.

“Does she think it’s working?”

“She believes so.”

Neither a confirmation nor an opposition. Spock doesn’t know. 

Nyota chokes out a laugh. “Okay.” She finally turns to look at him again. “Sorry I started crying.”

“The human body often behaves in erratic ways when presented with potentially emotionally distressing information,” he says evenly.

She sniffs and finally faces him again. “That it does.”

He waits- again, always- for her to find her words properly. 

“Thank you for trying,” she says at last. “It means a lot.”

He nods, short and firm. “Is there anything else you require?”

“I originally came in to ask if you wanted to get dinner together.” Nyota clenches her jaw as the shudder travels through her and her neck dips to the side for a moment. “Now maybe I’m thinking that I look like a mess.”

Spock’s hand doesn’t leave her neck, his fingers pressing into her skin ever so slightly to ease the off feeling of barely-there touch. 

“You have not given a reason we should not have dinner together,” he says, his voice approaching that almost-soft tone he only uses in private with her. “You look beautiful.”

She scoffs. “I just cried my eyes out for a couple of minutes. I’m ninety-eight percent sure I don’t.”

“Vulcans do not lie,” Spock says immediately.

Nyota laughs. “Somehow, I don’t believe that.”

“I am not lying to you, Nyota.” He opens the neural connection between them, and she startles at the strength of his emotion. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“You have to give me a few minutes,” she says, but she’s already smiling a little bit. 

When they leave his office, her hand is tightly held in his.

⋘⋙

Sanaa doesn’t call that week, or the next, or that month. She doesn’t call during the summer, while Nyota is drowning in homework again, or when the leaves turn crisp and yellow on the trees.

The air is starting to smell of spring when Nyota’s padd vibrates against her hip. It’s not an apology. It’s a picture of Sanaa and Rebecca’s cat sunning in a window. Nyota’s hands feel shaky as she opens the message and stares at it until the screen goes dark again.

She doesn’t even know what to say, so she leaves it for three days, then calls Eshe.

“Hey,” Eshe says, her voice bright. “What brings my favorite Nyota to the comm?”

Nyota’s chest tightens for a moment before she presses a hand to her sternum and forces herself to speak. “Sanaa sent me a picture of their cat a couple of days ago. It’s the first time she’s talked to me of her own volition since last Christmas- if you can even call it talking.”

Eshe pauses for a long minute. “She asked me how school was going for you the other day.”

“Really?” Nyota can’t help the squeak in her voice. She feels all out of sorts. She clears her throat; watches her hand flip at the wrist for a few seconds. “What did she say? What did  _ you _ say?”

“Just that she should ask you, but you’re kicking ass like normal. She made a bit of a funny face, and then said thank you.”

Nyota takes another deep breath. “So she sent me a picture of their cat.”

“I guess.” Nyota can practically feel Eshe’s shrug through the comm. “Who can fathom the mind of Sanaa Uhura?” A bit of a pause, and then, “How are you holding up?”

“Good,” Nyota replies, meaning it. “And Spock is, too. We’re really, really good.”

“Good.” Eshe’s smiling, Nyota can hear it. “I’m glad.”

“Me too.” Nyota lets her comm settle in between her shoulder and cheek, reaching for the nail polish bottle she’s had sitting out for a couple of days. “Do you want to hear about his mom’s latest visit?”

“I’d love that,” Eshe says. 

Nyota unscrews the top of the bottle and settles in her chair. “Well,” she starts. “She took me shopping, and somehow convinced Spock to put off curriculum planning to come with us.”

Eshe shifts around in the background. “I have a good feeling about this,” she says. “Please tell me something really funny happened.”

“Just wait,” Nyota smiles.

“Eagerly,” Eshe replies. 

**Author's Note:**

> Nyota does not tic when she’s in Spock’s office, FYI. The movement might read like one or be mistaken for one, but I stim like that all the time, especially when I feel like the emotion can’t get out any other way. 
> 
> I will be happy to discuss meta or whatever you like about this story, including original plans that got thrown out of the window. My [askbox](https://karikes.tumblr.com/ask) is always open, or you can ask me stuff in the comments if that’s more your speed.
> 
> Thank you again <3


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